


please, please, please

by sylwrites



Series: fall in light [6]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, F/M, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-10 09:15:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11688603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylwrites/pseuds/sylwrites
Summary: Coda to 'Fall in Light'.For most of Jughead’s life, October had meant falling leaves, midterms, and Halloween. This year, he learns there is also one other thing that happens in October: the NFL trade deadline.Or, how can you measure the impact of one person on another?





	please, please, please

_ So for once in my life, let me get what I want  
_ _ Lord knows, it would be the first time _

  * The Smiths



  
  


For most of Jughead’s life, October had meant falling leaves, midterms, and Halloween. This year, he learns there is also one other thing that happens in October: the NFL trade deadline.

 

He and Betty are at a sports bar in Morningside Heights, wedged into a booth across from Archie and Veronica, who one week prior had returned from a late-season trip to the Hamptons with a brand new accessory: a diamond engagement ring. He’d found out when Betty did, at one in the morning with a phone call from Veronica, but due to various responsibilities of increasing irrelevance, they hadn’t been able to get together for celebratory drinks until tonight.

 

Jughead has to hand it to them; the bar is actually not that fancy, especially given the reason they’re here. Veronica’s really been branching out of her comfort zone lately, he thinks, and makes a mental note to give her props for it later. It has a good selection of beer and an even better homemade burger, which he’s currently halfway through devouring. 

 

Beside him, Betty is eating a pecan and arugula salad with grilled chicken, one of her go-tos at places like this. Now having met her mother a few times, her eating habits make a lot more sense to him: she’d had it burned into her by the power of Alice Cooper. Protein, fibre,  _ no sugar,  _ and  _ healthy fats only, Elizabeth.  _ Jughead has been spending the last year slowly unwinding this complex (to varying degrees of success), but sometimes old habits win out and she ends up being that person who orders a salad at a sports bar. Even the waitress had seemed confused, frowning slightly as if meaning to point out that the salads are there for show,  _ you’re not actually supposed to order them, miss,  _ but Betty hadn’t missed a beat.

 

Jughead hadn’t pushed the subject when she’d ordered, having seen her face when they’d first walked in. The bar is dark and gloomy, the kind of place that thrives on the vibrating atmosphere of communally-viewed sports games, and given her proclivity toward nervousness in these types of environments Jughead had decided to leave well enough alone for today. She’s sipping on some kind of a vodka drink that involves full-calorie Sprite, so his concern has been dialled back slightly.

 

Which is good, because now he can focus on worrying about Archie and Veronica’s wedding. Archie had already asked him to be his best man, which he’d accepted after an exaggerated period of contemplation, and he can only imagine what kind of bullshit Veronica is going to put them all through for her fairy tale princess wedding. He’s already started to mentally compile a list of things that he’s not willing to do, up to and including some kind of weird wedding-party dance number.

 

“So have you guys started to talk about dates?” Betty asks, piercing her salad with a fork.

 

Archie looks at Veronica briefly and then gives Betty a rueful smile. “Ronnie has managed to do an incredible amount of planning in the last week. I think we’re going for next autumn sometime.”

 

“Depending on venue availability, of course,” Veronica jumps in, eagerly clasping her hands together and leaning into the table a little. “But think of how  _ pretty  _ it’ll be with the leaves in Central Park! Plus I look much better with some warmer fall tones than cool spring ones. So clear your schedules, both of you.”

 

Betty laughs. “We wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she assures her. “Though I’m a little surprised you’re getting married in lowly New York - would’ve thought you would’ve flown everyone to Rome, Kanye and Kim-style.”

 

“No, Betts,” Jughead says dramatically, touching her arm briefly. “That’s not enough for the future Lodge-Andrews clan. I’m seeing it now: their own island in the Pacific, nothing but blue as far as the eye can see.” He extends his hands toward Archie. “Except for that all-important vision of ginger at the end of the volcanic aisle, of course.”

 

Veronica gives him a disapproving look and folds her arms. “I’m not  _ that  _ extravagant.”

 

Archie snorts, then flinches ever-so-slightly when Veronica’s head whips around to glare at him. “Sorry babe, but you definitely are that extravagant,” he says. “I’m with Betty, I actually figured you’d want a destination - hey, look!” He points at the TV, where  _ Sportscentre  _ has been running nonstop since they’d arrived, keeping loyal viewers updated with details of the last-minute trades between the various NFL teams. According to Archie, the deadline is a few days away; judging by how often he’s glanced up at the TV, Jughead has a suspicion that that played a role in their choice of venue for celebratory drinks.

 

Jughead’s eyes flick up at one of the many screens littering the bar. Closed captioning has been turned on, likely because the noise level in the bar is just loud enough to drown out most of the actual TV sound. The program is showing the image of a young man with dark skin and a sullen expression that is not unlike that of most of the other players whose faces have been flashed on the screen. His name is spelled out clearly just below the headshot: Chuck Clayton, running back. 

 

“That’s awesome,” Archie declares. “Clayton is a hell of a running back, he totally deserves a shot with a better team than the Titans. He had an  _ excellent  _ record at Notre Dame, I’m still not sure how a better team didn’t draft him, not when you can rush for that many yards. Hopefully he can help get our  _ horrible offense  _ back in shape, did you  _ see  _ that last game...”

 

His friend’s voice falls to the back of Jughead’s mind as his eyes scan the hastily typed words from closed captioning. When he catches one key phrase -  _ traded to the New York Giants -  _ he freezes.

 

Jughead immediately recognizes the name; they haven’t spoken about  _ him  _ as a person since the night that she first told him what had happened to her, but he’ll never forget the name of the person that caused Betty so much pain. He looks over at her and sees her face slowly draining of colour, her hand frozen with a few leaves of lettuce still stuck on the fork that she’s clutching.

 

Archie is still talking about football, his lecture having expanded from Chuck to a dissection of the Giants’ entire offense. Veronica is watching him, enraptured by the obvious passion in his voice, and thus neither of them have noticed Betty’s reaction. Jughead is honestly not sure if that’s a good or bad thing; he knows that Veronica is aware, at least theoretically, that Betty was assaulted at one point, but he has no idea what kind of details she’s aware of, and certainly Archie is clueless.

 

He takes the fork from Betty’s hand and gently sets it down, then laces their fingers together and settles them underneath the table. She’s trembling a little now, eyes still bright and wide against her rapidly paling face. He knocks his knee against hers and tilts his head questioningly when she finally looks over at him, jutting it toward the door to ask the unspoken question.

 

She shakes her head, but she does push at him and quietly say that she needs to use the washroom. He slips out of the booth to let her pass, eyes following her worriedly, and spends her absence only half-listening to Archie continue to drone on about football. After five minutes, Jughead begins to contemplate asking Veronica to go check on Betty. When seven minutes have passed, he opens his mouth to interrupt her and Archie’s conversation, only to hear the sound of dishes breaking and Betty’s voice cutting through the din of the bar.

 

“Get off me!” she’s screaming. Without a second thought, Jughead leaps out of the booth and runs toward her voice. He turns into the short, narrow hallway that leads to the kitchen and sees Betty cowering against the wall, her face white with panic and her hands curled into fists in front of her face. At her feet is a serving tray with three empty plates on it, one broken in half. 

 

Jughead ignores the few people who are standing around her, staring in shock, and immediately goes to her side. He says, “Betty, baby, it’s me, it’s Jughead,” but doesn’t dare to touch her yet. Not when she’s like this. 

 

Her shoulders relax a little at the sound of his voice, and even though he’d usually wait for a stronger signal than that, he gathers her into his arms. She clutches at him, shaking, and hides her face in him. She’s stretching his t-shirt into her hands, but he doesn’t care; if the fabric of his shirt is inside her fists, she can’t cut her hands. Jughead holds one arm around her shoulders protectively and keeps her face against his chest with the other, then looks up and asks one of the waitstaff, “What happened?”

 

The waiter, clearly taken aback by Betty’s reaction, shakes his head nervously and says, “I saw her coming out of the bathroom just ahead of me, so I said, ‘Sorry, excuse me’ and put a hand on her back so that she’d know I was behind her with the tray. And then she just sort of - flipped out. I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, ma’am,” he apologizes.

 

Jughead gives a little sigh, nodding his understanding, and rubs Betty’s back slowly. “Thank you,” he says to the waiter, “it’s alright, she’s - you didn’t do anything wrong.” He turns his back so that they have some modicum of privacy - although since the whole bar is practically staring at them, he’s not sure what the point is - and drops his head to Betty’s. He strokes her hair gently. “We’ll go home, baby, come on.”

 

Jughead tugs her gingerly toward the door, keeping one arm firmly around her, and stops briefly at their table on the way. “She’s not feeling well,” he says to Veronica and Archie, not caring how bad a lie it obviously is. “We’ll have to reschedule, sorry.” He grabs Betty’s purse from their now-empty side of the booth, sliding it over his shoulder, and fumbles one-handed for some bills in his pocket to pay for their half-eaten food.

 

“It’s okay, I got it,” Veronica says. Jughead makes eye contact with her briefly; her face is full of concern and a thousand questions, but she doesn’t say anything further. That conversation will be later.

 

He nods. “Thanks,” he mutters, then guides Betty outside without waiting for a response. He hails a cab and helps her into it. Betty sits directly beside him, his arm still around her shoulders, and tucks her face into his armpit. Mercifully, the cab driver doesn’t try to make conversation or comment at all on their behaviour. Jughead makes a mental note to give him an extra tip.

 

When they’re halfway home, he realizes that Betty is only dressed in her sweater and jeans, meaning that they left her jacket at the restaurant. Being completely unwilling to turn around, Jughead slips his phone out of his pocket and sends Veronica a one-handed text.  **_Can you please grab Betty’s coat for me and take it home with you?_ **

 

The response is nearly immediate.  **_Already have it. Is she okay?_ **

 

Jughead looks down at Betty. She’s stopped trembling, but her face is still hidden and her shoulders are slumped. He kisses the top of her head before replying to Veronica.  **_No._ **

 

When they get inside their apartment, Betty goes straight to the bathroom. She keeps the door open, which Jughead interprets as an invitation of sorts. He leans against the doorway and watches her wash her hands and face with cold water. Then she clutches the edge of the sink, takes a few deep breaths, and turns to look at him.

 

“I’m really sorry,” she begins, but he cuts her off immediately.

 

“Don’t apologize. Ever.” Jughead walks up to her and puts a hand on her arm. “Are you okay? You scared the hell out of me.”

 

Betty hesitates for a moment, then gives him a small nod. “I think so,” she says. “I just was - I don’t know. Really unprepared to hear his name, I guess, and then to hear Archie talk about his record for rushing yards in college - it was too much. I went to the bathroom and washed my face, trying to get a hold of myself, but it wasn’t working. When I left and felt someone touch me, I just - it was like I couldn’t breathe, and I was back there in the car.” She casts her eyes downward. “I haven’t relived it that vividly for a long time.”

 

She doesn’t talk about it a lot - at all, really, except in the context of her major project on rape kit backlogs, and even then it always seems sort of abstract. And for the most part, that’s fine; Jughead doesn’t need to know any more of the details than he already does - doesn’t want them, either. It doesn’t usually have a prolonged impact on their daily life, if at all. There’s no  _ reason  _ that he would be more prepared. But she’d warned him about this, about triggering events and how sometimes there will be something small that suddenly brings her back in time nearly ten years, and he never knows how to help her.

 

“Do you want to talk about - about him?” Jughead asks, cautiously watching her face.

 

Betty shakes her head and glances up at him. Without any makeup, she looks impossibly young. “Can we go to bed?”

 

It’s only eight-thirty and he’s still hungry, but he immediately responds, “Yes, of course” and moves out of the way so that she can walk into the bedroom. He feeds Caramel, who has been mewling at their feet since arriving home, and then goes to join Betty.

 

They lay facing each other in the semi-darkness, touching hands and knees but nothing else. Although neither is asleep, there are no words spoken for nearly half an hour. Then finally, Betty says, “I guess I owe Archie and Veronica an explanation.”

 

“We can make something up,” Jughead says automatically. “We don’t have to tell them anything. They’ll get over it.”

 

She seems to consider this for a moment, but ultimately Betty shakes her head. “No,” she says quietly. “I want to. They’ve earned it.”

 

\--

 

Betty wakes up earlier than normal the next day. Dawn has begun to come later now that they’re into October, so it’s usually dark lately when she gets up. But even with that, today feels  _ early.  _ Jughead feels her side of the bed lift as she rises. He rolls into the centre with a sleepy hand over his eyes.

 

“Time s’it?” he mumbles, peeking through his fingers. She’s digging in the dresser for her running clothes like usual, facing away from him.

 

“It’s four-thirty,” Betty whispers, setting leggings and a thermal long-sleeved shirt on the foot of the bed. “Go back to sleep, Juggie.” 

 

Caramel hops up beside him and curls into his neck. Jughead reaches up and pets her tiredly. “That’s too early, Betty,” he says, letting out a loud yawn. “It’s Saturday. Come back to bed for a bit.” His eyes shut briefly, and when he opens them again she’s already dressed.

 

“Gonna go for a run,” she says, folding her pajamas neatly and setting them on her side of the bed. She leans over and kisses him delicately. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

 

It’s so tempting to drift back to sleep. The bed is warm where her body had been and it smells like her. Caramel is soft against his neck, her purring gently vibrating his shoulder. He could drop into the dark abyss and easily get another four hours before anything resembling responsibilities would require his attention. It’s everything he wants.

 

But it’s not what she needs. At least, he doesn’t think so. Okay, he’s not sure. But she hadn’t been okay when they went to sleep the night before and she doesn’t seem okay now, not if the dark circles under her eyes are any indication. Jughead knows that running is like therapy for her, but it’s practically the middle of the night and the idea of hre leaving right now doesn’t sit well with him. So he lifts Caramel off his shoulder and sits up, rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Come back to bed for a bit,” he repeats, reaching for her hand. “Please.”

 

Betty hesitates for a moment and then shakes her head. “I’m up, I’m gonna go for a run. I’ll come cuddle with you after, like always, okay?”

 

“It’s pitch black outside, Betts. Come on.” Jughead gestures to himself both hands and wiggles his shoulders a little. “How can you leave all this?”

 

She smiles a little, but even in the darkness Jughead can see that the corners of her mouth are pulled tightly. “I’ll be fine. I need the run, okay? I need to clear my head.”

 

Jughead considers this for a moment and then sighs. “Okay, then I’m coming with you.” He throws the comforter back and swings his legs out, but she holds a hand up and stops him.

 

“Juggie, besides the fact that you definitely can’t keep up with me, I don’t really want company.” Betty lifts his feet and sets them back on the mattress. “I’ll only be an hour.”

 

“Betty, with what happened yesterday, don’t you think--”

 

_ “Jughead.”  _ Her voice is sharp and cutting. “Drop it.” She throws the comforter back atop his legs, the action hostile somehow, and leaves the room without another word. A minute later, Jughead hears the front door shut. 

 

He drops back against the pillows, ignoring Caramel’s mewl of annoyance at being disturbed. He loves Betty so much, more than anybody he’s ever loved before (admittedly a small group, but still), and he fucking hates that he can’t do anything in situations like this. He hates that his hand in hers the evening before couldn’t stop her panic attack in the bathroom of the bar, hates that he’d held her all night and she’d  cried anyway, and hates that she’d still woken at an absurd hour to go running. 

 

He does help her, sometimes. For example, he knows that she appreciates his protective stance on the train and when he pulls her around a crowd rather than through it. He tries to read her body language carefully before, during, and after sex, never wanting to be the cause of any kind of pain, and he knows that she’s grateful for his caution. But his presence isn’t always enough to make the decade-old memories go away, and it makes him want to hit things. Or people.

 

_ (Person.) _

 

Jughead lays awake until Betty returns an hour and a half later, sweaty and panting from thundering up the steps of their building. She goes straight into the bathroom, then shakes kibble into Caramel’s bowl before wandering back into their bedroom in a towel.

 

Her wet hair is twisted into a knot already, so her back is a smooth expanse of unblemished skin when the towel drops. Jughead watches her pull on panties and a bra, a cute matching set with chestnut-coloured polka dots against a cream-coloured background, and just like every other morning he has a moment of disbelief that this girl is with  _ him.  _ She turns toward him in the darkness and walks over silently. She climbs into the bed gingerly, as though she’s trying not to disturb him, so Jughead lifts his arm to let her know he’s awake.

 

Betty slides underneath it and presses her nose to his collarbone, breathing him in deeply. He rubs her back quietly, letting her relax into him, then kisses the side of her head. “I love you,” he says softly.

 

She sniffs a little, but he doesn’t feel any wetness on his skin. “I love you too,” she says with what sounds like a clogged throat. “I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier. You were just trying to look out for me.”

 

Jughead swallows the lump that’s beginning to form in his throat. “Yeah, but you know what you need.” He closes his eyes, trying to soak in the feeling of her cool skin against his. “I shouldn’t have pushed.”

 

“Not always,” Betty mumbles, her words muffled against his shoulder. “I don’t always know what I need.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

She burrows deeper into him. “Nothing,” she says, her palms splayed across his back. “Thank you for yesterday. For helping and for taking me home when everyone was staring. I feel like such an idiot. That poor waiter.”

 

Jughead presses another kiss to her head. “Never feel that way, baby, okay? None of that is your fault. None of it,” he repeats, sighing a bit more heavily than he intended. “The waiter will get over it. So will Archie and Veronica. If you want, we can just stay here.”

 

“All day?” Betty asks, lifting her face from him. 

 

He shrugs and smiles at her. “All day, all week - forever. Why not?”

 

She raises an eyebrow at him. “There’s no food here--”

 

“Postmates.”

 

“We have school--

 

“We can drop out.”

 

“There’s rent to pay--”

 

“I’ll sell everything I own,” he suggests. “All I need is this bed and you. We can even sell our clothes,” he adds, wiggling his eyebrows at her.

 

Betty giggles and pushes against him playfully. “I knew it would end up dirty somehow.”

 

Jughead laughs and kisses her. She taps her fingers against his back and he gives her ass an affectionate squeeze, rubbing his thumbs over the soft skin. “You’re the one that came in here in these panties,” he points out. “Your ass is the one to blame here.”

 

“Uh huh,” she giggles, squirming under his hands with a delighted smile on her face. “Do you want to go out for breakfast? I just realized we never finished supper last night.” She places a hand on his cheek, her eyes suddenly full of concern. “My poor Juggie. You must be dying.”

 

“I am,” he says seriously. “Breakfast sounds great. But first, a little bit more sleep. Is that okay?”

 

Betty nods and snuggles against him again, pulling the comforter over her shoulders. “There’s no place I’d rather be.”

 

\--

 

Four hours later, Jughead is on the train uptown, mentally counting down the stops until the train will arrive at his intended destination. Betty is beside him, wearing a baseball cap, jeans, and a navy blue puffer vest over her white sweater. They’re on the way to Archie and Veronica’s apartment after having breakfast at a greasy-spoon diner in Hell’s Kitchen that Betty loves. His stomach is full of pancakes and bacon but his heart is full of nerves, and judging by how tightly she’s clutching his hand, so is Betty’s.

 

She’s going to tell Archie and Veronica about her assault, a decision that she’d made in the spirit of taking back the control that she’d temporarily lost the night before. Jughead couldn’t be more proud of her, but he’s also incredibly anxious about the whole thing. Veronica is apparently aware of some type of event like that having occurred in Betty’s past, and he thinks that her reaction will be more on the sympathetic, tear-filled side. But Archie - Jughead’s known Archie a long time, and his first instinct is often well-intentioned violence.

 

(Not that Jughead doesn’t understand that; if he could, he’d beat the shit out of Chuck in a second. But it’s not what Betty wants.)

 

“Over there, two o’clock,” Jughead murmurs to Betty quietly, referring to a man on the train that has four chihuahuas in a tote bag. “What do you think his deal is?”

 

Betty smiles up at him, a flash of gratitude in her eyes, and then pretends to think on it for a long moment. “They’re his wife’s,” she finally decides. “Or he’s part of some kind of secret underground chihuahua racing club.”

 

“My money’s on the little one on the end, in that case,” he muses, pulling her to stand as the train prepares to stop.

 

“He looks like he has something to prove,” Betty agrees, following him onto the platform once the doors open.

 

They head up to street level and turn right at the Starbucks on the corner. Since they’d moved across town, Jughead has done this trip many, many times - sometimes with Betty, sometimes without - and at this point the walk from the train feels automatic. But today he’s hyper-vigilant, his hand clenched as tightly around Betty’s as hers is around his, not wanting even the slightest thing to bother her further. They stop at a flower stand at Betty’s insistence and purchase a pretty bouquet of autumn blooms, then continue onward. The remainder of the five-minute walk is uneventful, and when they’ve marched down the White Mile hallway and are standing at the apartment door, Jughead breathes a small sigh of relief.

 

Veronica opens the door at Betty’s polite knock. Jughead had messaged Archie in advance to let them know that he and Betty would be coming over to talk to them, so she doesn’t look surprised to see her friends in the hallway.

 

“Hi guys, come on in,” she says warmly, stepping to the side. 

 

Jughead strides in and goes over to the living room. The girls have started hugging already, and he decides to remove himself from any involvement in that. Besides, Archie is sitting on the couch, looking mildly concerned. “Hey man,” he says, sitting down on the loveseat.

 

“Hey,” Archie says. “What’s up?”

 

“These are for you guys,” Betty interrupts, handing Veronica the bouquet of flowers they’d just bought. “As a congratulations for your engagement, and - and as an apology for last night.”

 

“That’s okay, B,” Veronica says, rubbing Betty’s back briefly. “You weren’t feeling well.”

 

Betty shakes her head. “No, I - let’s sit down.” She walks over and sits beside Jughead, who offers his hand to her immediately. She takes it and waits for Veronica to take a seat beside Archie on the couch, her manicured hands folded neatly over her lap. Betty’s hand trembles slightly, and she looks up at Jughead. “I don’t know where to begin,” she confesses, laughing uncomfortably.

 

Jughead reads her silent plea and squeezes her hand. “Betty has something that she wants to tell you guys, in light of what happened yesterday at the bar.”

 

Betty nods and looks down at her knees. “V kinda knows a little about this, but - I think I owe you an explanation. Both of you,” she says, glancing up at Archie. He’s frowning already, brows furrowed with concern, and Jughead strokes the back of her hand reassuringly.

 

“You don’t  _ owe--”  _ Jughead begins, stopping when Betty gives him a pointed look. He swallows and gives her a slight nod. “Sorry.”

 

“You can tell us anything, B,” Veronica says, grabbing Archie’s arm. “We won’t tell anyone.”

 

Betty laughs a little, her nerves evident in the choppy tone. “You guys are probably the only people who  _ don’t  _ know, at this rate, but I kinda liked it that way. Anyway.” She shifts in the loveseat, crossing her ankles. “Chuck Clayton used to be a quarterback,” she begins.

 

Jughead watches Archie’s face turn from a frown to a confused grimace. Clearly, Chuck’s name was the last thing he’d expected to hear Betty bring up. She tightens her grip on his hand as she continues.

 

“I went to high school with him. He was a senior when I was a sophomore.” She picks at a thread hanging from the seam of her jeans. “I went on a date with him when I was fifteen, just before my sixteenth birthday. I was so excited - I mean, he was the  _ quarterback.”  _ Betty looks up at the ceiling for a moment, and Jughead can see unshed tears shining in her eyes.  She swallows and looks back down; he puts his other hand on her forearm, stroking it slowly. “My dress was so cute, V, you would’ve loved it. It was blue and it had these little yellow flowers all over it. From far away they kind of looked like stars.”

 

“Betty,” Veronica begins softly, drawing her lower lip into her mouth. She has tears in her eyes too, Jughead notices; she must realize what’s coming.

 

Betty shakes her head at her, like if she stops she won’t start again, and continues with an increasingly choked voice. “Chuck picked me up in his car, and we went to the movies. He kept complimenting me. I thought he was just being nice. But then after, he took me to the Point and parked, and…” 

 

She trails off, sniffling loudly, and lets go of Jughead’s hand to wipe the tears from her face. Jughead reaches over to the table beside him and snatches a kleenex, handing it to her wordlessly. She accepts it with a grateful expression and wipes her face, then holds it in both hands over her lap and stares it. Jughead puts his arm around her back and presses what he hopes is a comforting kiss to her shoulder.

 

Betty leans into him a little. “He assaulted me,” she says to the kleenex. For a moment, Jughead thinks that she might say more, but then her shoulders start shuddering and she shakes her head, still staring at her lap. “I pressed charges afterward, but it was all he-said, she-said and he was acquitted.” 

 

Jughead’s left arm tightens around her. She lifts a hand across her chest to hold his briefly, then drops it and grabs his right hand instead. He rests his forehead on her shoulder and whispers, “You’re doing great, babe.”

 

She nods at that, inhaling deeply, and continues. “Anyway, he graduated and he went to Notre Dame and then Tennessee, and I really haven’t - it’s been a long time since I’ve heard his name out of the blue. But then yesterday…” She lifts her gaze to Archie and Veronica. Jughead turns his head, too, taking note of Veronica’s tear-streaked face and the totally white sheet of Archie’s. “I didn’t expect it, I wasn’t prepared, and I reacted badly when someone touched my back in the hallway. I’m really sorry for running out, especially when we were supposed to be celebrating something so happy.”

 

“Betty, don’t apologize,” Veronica says, standing up and walking toward them. Betty stands up and is immediately pulled into a tight hug. “Oh B, I am so sorry.”

 

Jughead watches them for a moment. Veronica is squeezing Betty tightly, but Betty is returning the hug with equal force. He swallows. Maybe more than one person could make up the difference.

 

His eyes fall to Archie, who sort of looks like he’s going to throw up. Archie runs a hand through his hair, one of his clearest nervous tics, and says, “Betty, I’m  _ really  _ sorry,” with all the warm-heartedness and earnesty that Jughead has come to associate with his best friend. “And I just kept going  _ on  _ about him - if I would’ve known, I would have never--”

 

“I know, Arch,” Betty says, pulling away from Veronica and wiping her eyes. “You didn’t know.” 

 

“Still.” Archie looks absolutely dejected. “I’m so sorry, Betty.” He looks up at her; she opens her arms a little and he stands to give her a brief hug. “I assume Jughead has already offered this, but I’d be honoured to beat the shit out of him.”

 

Jughead presses his lips together. “I offered her the full force of Dad’s old gang, but she said no,” he says with a teasing lilt in his voice.

 

Betty smiles a little and steps back from the hug, moving to sit next to Jughead again. “No, that’s okay,” she says. “I just want to forget about it. I have, for the most part. It happened a long time ago. But sometimes certain things … bother me, I guess, and I wanted you guys to know.”

 

Jughead slips his arm back around her. “For the record, I didn’t think she needed to tell you guys anything. It’s nobody’s business,” he says bluntly. “But she wanted to.”

 

“Thank you for trusting us,” Veronica says quietly. “Jughead’s right, you didn’t have to. But thank you.”

 

Before they leave, Archie stops Jughead in the living room. Betty and Veronica are hugging again near the kitchen, and initially Jughead assumes that Archie also wants to give the girls a moment alone. But then Archie clears his throat nervously, and Jughead knows he wants to say something.

 

“If there’s ever anything I can do, bro - anything - just say the word,” Archie says, glancing nervously at Veronica and then back at Jughead. “I’m not above breaking the law if you wanted. I know you don’t. But if you did.” 

 

Jughead smiles at him. “I can’t believe Archie Andrews is volunteering to break the law,” he says. He claps him on the shoulder. “I appreciate it, Arch. But I think she’s - I think we’re okay.”

 

Archie nods and shoves his hands in his pockets. “You’re a good guy, Juggie. She’s lucky to have you.”

 

Jughead shakes his head and looks over at Betty, who’s smiling at Veronica even as they both wipe tears from their faces. “Nah. I’m the lucky one.”

 

\--

 

They spend the rest of the day on the couch in their apartment, eating Thai and watching the British version of  _ The Office.  _ The acerbic humour is a bit more Jughead’s style, but he’d seen the American version before the original and it’s still hard for him to wrap his brain around the accents. Betty doesn’t seem to mind, but neither one of them is really paying attention anyway.

 

They’d gotten home from Archie and Veronica’s around noon. He’d intended to clean the apartment at some point that afternoon, since she’s been asking him to deal with the mess around his laptop in the spare room for a week now, but she’d interrupted him partway through. Her slim arms had slid around his waist in a backwards hug, and when he’d turned to hold her properly he’d been shocked to see her completely naked.

 

Too many bad memories too close to the surface, she’d said. She wanted to destroy them.

 

He’d acquiesced immediately, helping her remove his shirt and then kicking his jeans off hastily. She’d tugged his mouth to hers, he let her curves fill his hands, and they’d fallen onto her old mattress. He chanted “I love you” into her mouth and her neck and her collarbone, then he let her push him onto his back and climb on top.

 

The pile of papers remains unorganized. 

 

She’s barely left his side since then, and now that they’ve situated themselves in one place it’s even easier for her to stay close. Jughead is stretched outward from one arm of the couch, his back supported by pillows and his feet nearly reaching the other end. Betty is laying directly on top of him, her head on his shoulder and her hands wedged between his back and the cushions. She’s wearing a pair of his old boxers and a ribbed tank top from the closet in the spare room, but she’d foregone socks and so she’s wedged her cold toes between his feet. He hadn’t bothered to put on anything other than boxers afterward, but they have a blanket over their legs and he runs hot anyway.

 

“Would you rather work for Michael Scott or David Brent?” Jughead asks, rubbing her back in broad circles underneath her tank top.

 

“Depends.” Betty flips her head to face the TV, her ponytail whipping gently against his face. “Am I Tim-slash-Jim or Gareth-slash-Dwight?”

 

Jughead thinks about it. “Gareth-slash-Dwight.”

 

“Probably Michael Scott.”

 

“What about if you’re Tim-slash-Jim?”

 

“Still Michael Scott,” she answers, giggling when he pokes her side. She reaches around and blindly taps his elbow. “Scratch.”

 

Jughead obeys, dragging his short nails across her back. “Is there no universe where you want to work for David Brent?”

 

“Maybe if I’m Toby.” Betty makes a half-moaning, half-sighing sound, shifting her hips against him unintentionally. “That feels so good, Juggie.”

 

Jughead swallows hard. His free hand immediately moves down, grabbing and stilling her hips. “You can either make those noises or wiggle around, but you can’t do both, Betts.”

 

She lifts her head up, confused. He gives her a pointed look, and she bites her lip. “Sorry,” she says, not sounding remotely apologetic. “But it does feel good. Kinda like a massage.  _ Oh!  _ You should give me a massage.”

 

“Do I get paid for this?” Jughead asks, but even as he’s still speaking, he’s also slipping his other hand underneath her shirt. He begins to press on knots in her lower back, earning himself another loud moan from Betty. “Christ,” he swears under his breath. “Not noises like  _ that.”  _

 

Betty kisses his chest and giggles. “Yeah, I can tell that this is super unenjoyable for you,” she teases, wiggling her hips against his growing erection.

 

“You minx,” he says with false annoyance, moving his left hand to another knot on the left side of her back. “You’re lucky I love you.”

 

“I love you too,” she breathes, dropping her head back down to his shoulder. “Oh  _ god,  _ Juggie. Right there.” He presses obediently on another knot, and she hisses with pleasure. “You’re so -  _ ungh -  _ you’re so good at this--”

 

Jughead closes his eyes and takes several deep breaths, fighting the urge to thrust against her. He needs to think of something else. “Okay, what if you were Dawn-slash-Pam?”

 

His fingers then hit on what is obviously a particularly sore spot, because the noise that Betty lets out is more like a whine and a half-sob than a moan of pleasure. “Ohmigod,” she breathes, apparently exceptionally vocal today. “Sorry. Um, probably still - probably still Michael.” He finishes working the new knot out, and Betty raises herself up to look at him. “My personal masseuse,” she says, pecking his lips, “you’re the best.”

 

“I am,” Jughead agrees, taking advantage of her new elevation to slip one his hands around her side. He plays his fingers against her ribs for a minute until she bites her lip and looks at him through dark blonde lashes, then kisses her and lets the hand find her breast. His other hand slides down to the boxers she’s wearing, and he doesn’t even need to take them off to know how wet she is. Apparently whatever he’d been doing had been just as good for her as it was for him, preparation-wise, because she is already ready for him. 

 

Betty breaks the kiss and sits up on his lap, stripping her tank top off in one swoop. She tugs at the boxers he’s wearing, pulling them down until she’s freed him, then quickly hops off him. She runs to the bathroom and comes back with a condom, then takes off her own boxers before returning to straddle him.

 

“I know this is the second time today,” she says as he watches her roll the condom on. “And I know we just did it like this but I - do you mind? I just really want to be - I just want you like this.”

 

She wants control. She doesn’t have to say it for him to know. And honestly-- “Of course I don’t mind,” Jughead says, his breath coming out in a loud rush as she lowers herself onto him. “Do I mind having my incredibly gorgeous girlfriend naked on top of me? No. Besides, apart from the amazing view - and believe me, babe, it’s an  _ amazing  _ view,” he says, sitting up a little and cupping her breasts, “you’re doing all the work.”

 

Betty laughs, but she’s already started moving them at a faster pace than before, and it comes out more as choppy breaths than anything. Jughead’s hands drop to her rolling hips to steady and guide her. They’re not just words, either; he loves this position, loves having her in charge and feeling confident and safe, loves the way her breasts bounce and her mouth falls open. 

 

He lets her ride him for awhile, working both against her and with her. Then he slips his hand between them, and minutes later he has her make a noise so high-pitched that Jughead is certain their neighbours will complain. She comes before he does, but once she starts to flutter around him he’s not far behind.

 

Jughead sits up, still inside her, and gathers her tightly in his arms. “I love you so much,” he says against her lips, feeling oddly emotional. “I’m so proud of you. You’re such a warrior.”

 

Betty puts her hands on either side of his face. “You’re the best person I know,” she tells him, smiling at his words. “Thank you for everything today.”

 

He kisses her softly. “Anytime. But hopefully  _ not  _ anytime, if you know what I - fuck. Did I just ruin our moment?”

 

Betty giggles and climbs off of him, picking up her clothes from the floor. “Never,” she promises. “I have to pee, and then … can we order cake?”

 

_ “Can  _ we?” Jughead repeats. “I think the question is, why haven’t we already?”

 

She grins. “I knew I picked the right guy. If we get married, can we have cake for dinner  _ and  _ dessert?”

 

Jughead looks at her. She’s worrying her lip between her teeth just slightly; he has a feeling that he knows what that’s about. There was a time when he couldn’t even say ‘I love you’; it’s entirely reasonable that she’d be a little apprehensive about mentioning marriage to him. But she’s doing it anyway, putting herself out there after a whole day spent already doing that, and the least that he can do is assuage her anxiety.

 

“Of course we can, baby,” he says, putting his hands behind his head and intentionally trying to sound like Johnny Depp in  _ Cry-Baby.  _ “But I gotta warn you: wild guys like me, we can be hard to tame.”

 

He flashes a grin, winks, and she throws her shirt at his face.

 

\--

 

A month later, Jughead is sitting in the hallway of a community centre in Bushwick, his hand curled around a pamphlet he’d picked up a few weeks prior. He and Betty are both in the throes of second-year madness in school, but he’d managed to get some free time to do a little personal, independent research. He’s pretty sure that last year he read all of the material on the Internet about how to support a partner in the aftermath of a traumatic event like a sexual assault, and still, he’d been frustrated with his inability to help her. 

 

So he’d left his seminar a little early, walked down to the crisis centre near his campus, and asked the woman at the front for some additional resources. Once he’d explained the context of his inquiry, she’d handed him a pamphlet and smiled at him kindly. The pamphlet wasn’t glossy or shiny - it was cheap, the kind that was printed on regular paper and folded over once by hand - but it had an address on it and a title that interested him -  _ Caretakers of Assault Survivors -  _ and he’d gone.

 

It had ended up being a support group of sorts. Jughead was vaguely familiar with the concept, having attended one single Al-Anon meeting, but he’d been surprised at both the diversity of people who were in attendance and the degree to which he could relate to some of their issues. He’s never been the kind of person to seek out ‘support’ in that sense, but the first meeting had been sort of useful and he’d ended up coming back a second time. 

 

During the third meeting, he’d had a bit of an epiphany. He’d finally spoken up, having felt too awkward the first two weeks to share a story that he didn’t have any ownership over. He had been expressing his frustration over his inability to make everything better for Betty - a sentiment that he readily acknowledged was overly simplistic and idealistic - when the group leader, a man in his fifties named Matt, had interrupted to ask him whether he expected Betty to be able to have all the answers for own problems. The obvious and immediate answer had been  _ no, that’s unreasonable,  _ to which Matt had posed a countering question: why would he expect himself to be able to do that for Betty? The point wasn’t being everything all the time, but being something enough of the time and then being able to identify what  _ could  _ help in between.

 

It had been a lot of thinking, and his brain hurt when he left, but Jughead had felt a little lighter.

 

This week is the fourth meeting, and is supposedly going to be mainly about self-care. Jughead hasn’t told Betty about the meetings, telling her instead that he’s gone to work on his book at a coffee shop. It’s not because he’s embarrassed or concerned about her being upset; on the contrary, he’s sure that she would support him going. But he hadn’t been sure if there would be value in his attendance, and until he could be certain one way or the other he had decided to hold off.

 

Matt turns down the hall from outside, pulling his scarf off as he walks toward him, and stops when he sees Jughead sitting outside the room. “Jughead,” he says, extending his hand. “Glad to see you again.”

 

Jughead shakes it. “Hi Matt.”

 

“Can I ask why you’re out here and not in there? We’re going to start in a few minutes.”

 

Jughead scratches the back of his neck. “I’m trying to decide if I’m going,” he admits, finding it oddly difficult to lie to this man. “I mean, no offense, but I’m here to learn how to be better for her, not for me.”

 

Matt nods slowly. He looks contemplative for a moment, then says, “Let me ask you a question. Your partner - Betty, right? Let’s say hypothetically you were injured, and Betty had to take care of you for two months. That’d be a lot of stress, wouldn’t it?”

 

“I suppose,” Jughead says slowly.

 

“But she’d do it.”

 

Jughead nods. “Yeah, she would,” he says, confident in his answer.

 

“Would you be worried about her?”

 

The answer comes surprisingly easily. “Yeah. She’s not the kind of person that thinks about herself a lot.”

 

“So you would want her to put herself first, even though she’s supposed to be taking care of you.”

 

Jughead frowns a little. “Of course.”

 

“Okay.” Matt smiles at him. “Good answer. Now, that’s an exaggerated example. It’s unlikely that you’ll need a full-time caretaker for two months. And of course, when we care for our partners, we’re not ‘on’ every minute of every day. That’s unrealistic. But it can still be stressful, it can still take a toll, and if we aren’t watching out for ourselves, there’s no way that we can offer our partners what they need when the time comes.” He reaches out and shakes Jughead’s hand again. “I hope you come in,” he says, then turns and walks through the doorway.

 

Jughead sits there, thinking for a moment, then stands up and follows him.

  
  
  


**fin**

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys aren't tired of this universe yet. Please let me know how you liked it.


End file.
